


i've had trouble sleeping with both eyes closed

by kusemono (Glitchgoat)



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Consent Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchgoat/pseuds/kusemono
Summary: The point is that December is a great many things while he’s asleep, but vulnerable isn’t one of them.





	i've had trouble sleeping with both eyes closed

**Author's Note:**

> contains some consent issues that i will not be taking time out of my busy word count to condemn in-text because writing in chikage developing a conscience that he actually listens to would be a whole affair that'd take longer than the porn, and what do i look like? some kind of writer?

With the way December falls asleep at the drop of a hat, it’s hard to feel there’s anything special about witnessing it. He’s not open or vulnerable or peaceful or any other saccharine sentiment. He makes it clear he hears and recalls conversations – or at least, parts of them – that happen around him even when he’s doing a stunning impression of a ragdoll. He’s ready to spring to full alertness from dead sleep at the slightest sign of danger, like a—

Well. Like _some_ kind of small animal.

Chikage’s sure he could think of a point of comparison with a little bit of thought.

… that’s not the point.

The point is that December is a great many things while he’s asleep, but vulnerable isn’t one of them. Maybe that’s why Chikage’s careful not to give anything away on his face when he’s around him, as though December could see through closed eyes.

It’s _definitely_ why Chikage doesn’t feel too bad when he finds himself sitting near the edge of December’s futon, with December himself still wholly asleep, hugging a pillow, and completely disinterested in Chikage, despite having been bodily hoisted back up onto his bed by him. He would wake up if he thought he was in danger. Probably. Most likely. So, it’s fine. (That has to be the explanation, because otherwise Chikage would have to examine why he doesn’t feel bad, and that sounds like a rabbit hole he doesn’t want to go down right now.)

Let’s back up a moment.

Chikage had just meant to ask Homare-san a mundane question, but when he rapped his knuckles on the door, it had swung open at the lightest tap (unlocked, foolish, who knew what could happen? Someone unsavory might barge in, after all). With Arisugawa nowhere to be found, Chikage had been greeted instead by the sight of December curled up on the floor, knees drawn to his chest, and (thoroughly unsurprisingly) completely asleep. It seemed for all the world as though he’d been moving to his bed but had given up the moment it came to hoist himself up into the lofted bed.

(Or he might have fallen out of his bed, which was – while admittedly a fairly amusing thought – unlikely.)

The temptation was real to just leave him there – December would hardly _mind_ ; he’d definitely slept in worse positions – but some vague twinge of… something that he was decidedly not dealing with today in the back of Chikage’s head (not guilt, but something distantly adjacent, that had maybe brushed past guilt in passing) nudged at him.

So he nudged at December’s side with his foot. “Oi. December. Get up.”

In response to this heartfelt address, December snored.

Chikage’s urge to just leave him on the floor intensified, but so too did the little voice in the back of his head. _Be nice_ , it said, for some unfathomably stupid reason, as though the voice in his head had developed a traumatic form of amnesia and forgotten whose head it was stuck inside.

One thing led to another and after a few internal lamentations about dignity, marshmallows, and body mass, he bodily dragged December a bit (a lot) inelegantly into his bed atop the tangled mess of his covers. All the while, he slept, curling back in on himself as soon as Chikage let go of him, almost like he was springing back into position. Protecting his vitals, probably. Smart. (Or, alternatively, that was just how he’s comfortable.)

Chikage had been just about to leave when December blindly reached out for a pillow and pulled it into his arms—aware of the world around him enough to know where his pillow was, but thoroughly disinterested in whoever it is that changed his surroundings. December is – Chikage is sure – more than accustomed to the other members of the company moving him around in his sleep, doing everything short of tossing him around like a sack of rice, confident in the fact that he wakes only when he needs to. He’s always been good at that.

So that’s how Chikage got here, and it’s why he doesn’t feel bad when December doesn’t even shift in his sleep when Chikage shifts closer to him, or trails fingers up along the seam of his pants, or pushes the very bottom of his shirt up to bare not even an inch of achingly-pale skin.

It only emboldens him—as if he needed to be emboldened.

December doesn’t stir as Chikage’s hand trails to the front of his pants, a gentle barely-there touch graduating to palming at him in no time at all. Rather, it may be more accurate to say that December doesn’t _awaken_ , because parts of him definitely stir in response to Chikage’s touch. Chikage’s lip curls into the barest smirk as December grows hard under his fingers.

He pulls his hand away only long enough to shift onto his side, pressing his front to December’s back; he then nudges December’s leg so it’s less in the way, and slips his arm around December’s waist to resume his self-appointed task.

He considers stopping. He ultimately decides against it.

He only resents that he can’t see December’s face in this position as his hips move to meet his hand, rocking forward when Chikage threatens to stop touching him. December’s always been selfish—even a little greedy, even now, even like this. Chikage is hardly the type to find it cute, per se, but he obliges, plays along with what December’s body clearly wants.

(Because he’d wake up and stop him if he didn’t.)

December is not responsive—if you don’t know what to look for, and Chikage is more than familiar. Indeed, December huffs a little indignantly when Chikage pulls his hand away entirely, and he definitely grips a little tighter on the pillow in his arms. It’s the small things, but they betray his frustration.  
Maybe Chikage relishes it a little more than he’s going to admit; maybe that sends something warm to his stomach which causes his own dick to stir.  
So maybe he takes a little longer than he originally planned to push up the bottom of December’s shirt, splaying his palm out on his abs, spends a moment petting December’s stomach (and eliciting a couple more of those indignant huffs) before he slips his hand under the waistband of his pants.

December sighs and relaxes his grip on his pillow when Chikage’s hand returns to his erection, placated by skin on skin. His relaxation is short lived, if the way his body gets just so slightly tenser is any indication; more obviously, he pulls his pillow closer to his chest and just-barely rocks his hips into Chikage’s touch. Chikage allows himself the indulgence of getting a little bit closer, pressing his own clothed erection against December, changing the rhythm of his strokes to get him to move more. The slower he moves his hand, the more December’s hips move of their own accord, and the more he grinds back on Chikage. Everyone wins.

(Okay, mostly it’s Chikage that wins. But that’s fine.)

December’s breath quickens and a sleepy little noise falls out of his mouth, not a word so much as a breath that barely catches on his vocal cords.

He doesn’t see fit to stop just because December comes; if anything, it makes his hips move more when Chikage keeps stroking him through it-- so why stop? He _does_ stop, though—when he feels December’s hips almost tremble, he knows he’s pushed it far enough, that it’s time to back off before he risks waking him.

Or maybe it’s too late for that, because—

“Mnrn,” December murmurs a string of mumbled sounds, barely voiced, and Chikage quickly shushes him, both with a gentle _shh_ and by placing a hand over his mouth, and when December begins to open his mouth anyway in blatant defiance, Chikage tucks his fingers in before words can come out. He doesn’t need to see December’s face; he can feel the vaguely displeased expression that December pulls, not at the fingers in his mouth but at the bitter taste on them.  
_“Mrff,”_ December says, and Chikage sighs, pushing his fingers a little deeper into his mouth until he just barely starts to gag. Getting the message, December acquiesces and stops trying to talk. He rolls onto his back so he can face Chikage, and Chikage backs up and sits up, but he doesn’t take his fingers out of December’s mouth just yet.

In his turn, December watches him with the eyebrow not hidden by his hair quirked, waiting for an explanation so he can go back to sleep. Chikage debates lying—in fact, he almost does without thinking about it, about to launch into a lofty explanation (he’s sure he should come up with something), but there’s no use in lying to December. If anyone is going to see through him, after all.

So he goes for the alternative.

“Do me a favor, December?” Chikage says cheekily, a thin smile on his lips; he glances pointedly down at his own erection tenting the front of his pants, and December follows his eyeline.

He pauses for a moment, then glances back up at Chikage from under hooded eyelids. “… no,” he says flatly after a moment, and rolls over to face away from him. “Do it yourself.”

Chikage opens his mouth to retort, but December is snoring before he can put words together, and he closes his mouth again with a gentle click of his teeth. Exhaling through his nose, he glances at December’s back.

If he had better instincts, he’d be acting against them as he closed the distance between them again, but luckily, he has no such burden.

Chikage drags his hand, now more of a mess than before from both December’s spit and his release, down December’s pant leg to wipe it off. (What? He’s already messy. If it didn’t bother him enough to make him kick off his pants before going back to sleep, a little more won’t hurt.) December doesn’t react, and Chikage sighs.

_He’s such a pain._

He supposes he should go and take care of himself (or do it here, because fuck if December is going to care, and maybe he’d smear his own cum on December’s stomach for his trouble), but in the middle of that thought, a better idea strikes him.

He gingerly reaches across to December’s hand, covering it in his own; his fingers twitch in response to the touch, but relax again just as swiftly. He wonders if he should feel bad, and then if that if he did, whether it would be enough to stop him.

“December,” he says, quiet, leaning over him, “are you going to stop me?”

It’s a taunt, and he says it like one. December does not stir.

That’s good enough.

December’s on his side and facing away from him, but it doesn’t take much effort to move him so he’s on his back again. His far arm adjusts to keep a hold on his pillow; the other arm flops inelegantly over Chikage’s lap, and Chikage has to suppress the urge to chuckle as he – just for a moment – sets December’s hand aside.

He rises up onto his knees just long enough to undo his pants and push them only far enough down that his dick is no longer constrained by the fabric. He settles back down and takes December’s hand once more. He examines it for a moment, tracing along the lines of his palm -- December’s hands are rougher than he always thinks they should be, for as slight as they are, but it’s familiar– before he catches himself.

December _did_ tell him to take care of it himself, and he’s doing that, more or less, by his reckoning.

Covering the back of December’s hand with his own, he guides both of their hands together to his dick, and hisses an unconscious little sigh of relief. He keeps his grip on December’s hand loose, and has to experiment for a couple strokes before he re-finds the correct amount of pressure he has to exert.

It’s been a while since they’ve done this, after all.

“They”. He. They. Whatever. It’s fine.

December doesn’t respond at all to Chikage using his hand, but Chikage doesn’t particularly want to waste a lot of time here. They’ve done this in much more dangerous situations, though he wonders idly if the risk of Homare-san stumbling upon them is really _dangerous_ so much as—

(Well, to be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t entirely be surprised if Homare-san had had similar ideas regarding December--)

( _Think about anything else but that_.)

He shakes his head to dispel the thought and instead focuses instead on the warmth of December’s hand, of the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He grips December’s hand a little tighter. He’s used to doing this quickly, in stolen moments. It’s fine, as he speeds up, as he guides December’s thumb with his own, in something inelegant and sloppy but unique and familiar.

It’s fine.

It’s fine right up until the heat coiling in his stomach reaches a breaking point and he comes on December’s hand – and on his shirt, and a little bit on Chikage’s own hand, but mostly on December’s.

Chikage exhales through his nose and sits back. He keeps December’s hand on himself for a few more seconds, before loosening his grip. His hand falls away limply, as good as a ragdoll without the support Chikage offered.

He slips his eyes closed for a moment and hums through his nose. He knows he ought to slip away before he’s caught, before anything else happens, but for a moment, he doesn’t.

Then—

“Gross,” December murmurs faintly, in that same sleepy, flat tone that gives nothing away, and could be anything from amusement to mild irritation.

Chikage chuckles despite himself.

December is a great many things when he’s asleep, but vulnerable is not one of them.

Chikage doesn’t feel bad.

**Author's Note:**

> someone's gotta write the sleepfucking and i guess it's gotta be me and i'm sure everyone who knows me immediately knew this was going to happen the second i said i loved hisoka
> 
> if ("if". that's very funny. i mean "when".) i write more somno involving these two i'll probably upload it as additional chapters on this fic! so lmk if that's something y'all'd want to read. i mean it won't stop me if you _don't_ , but still.
> 
> on twt [@glitchgoats](https://twitter.com/glitchgoats)


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